Bitten/Drained: The Lauren Westlake Chronicles Volume 1

by Dan O'Brien

  Sighing again, this time as if he had been holding his breath for a long time, he touched the receiver. “Understood. Heading back. Over.”

  Matthews motioned to the other deputies to head back. They did so, taking one last look at the cracked lake, cold fingers of water tracing the tops of unbalanced islands of ice. Wide, broken pieces of thick ice jackknifed and bobbed in the choppy lake. The deputy felt a deep emptiness in his stomach, a sinking sensation about what happened. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Chapter XIX

  Montgomery stood as he always did, arms crossed and an uninterested look set squarely upon his face. The coffee mug rested in the bend of his arm, held loosely by a few fingers. He shifted his legs over top one another as he leaned back against the cold walls of the station. Despite being one of the most modern buildings in Locke, it never seemed to be able to warm up properly. Always was it too cold in the winter time, too hot in the summer.

  “So you’re a werewolf?” the sheriff asked, his even stare belying his disbelief.

  Dominic shifted uncomfortably, his blue eyes near translucent. His lips formed a wry smile and he placed his hands behind his back, wringing them together out of sight. “Yes, I am a werewolf.”

  Montgomery gestured with his mug, pointing at McManus. “So the other night, you nearly ran us off the road? And then we chased you into the night?”

  Dominic nodded again.

  “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  Mrs. Meadows looked over the top of the computer monitor. Her eyes were wide as she took in the deliciousness of a soap opera and a horror movie coalescing into reality. “You saw him when he was…” She raised a hand as if to exemplify the height of such a creature. “When he was all wolfy?”

  Lauren touched his shoulder, stepping forward away from Dominic’s side. “Yes, he is a werewolf. And I agree that his past is particularly interesting. But we have something much more important to worry about.”

  “The creature,” spoke the sheriff, leaning back against the wall once more.

  Westlake nodded. “Precisely. What I saw last night was horror incarnate. That thing is no longer human. It exuded something so primal and hateful it can only be understood in its presence. It was truly terrifying.”

  “It will not rest. It will not stop until it believes it is complete. Your town is in greater danger than before. It grows ever bolder,” iterated Dominic, his smooth voice hiding his concern.

  “Meaning what exactly?” replied Montgomery.

  He unlaced his arms and leaned against the table.

  Dominic stepped forward toward the center of the room. “The bitten suffer a horrible fate. There is no panacea for what has corrupted his mind. He believes that he is becoming a monster. And in many ways he is correct. Madness has driven him to do terrible things and those horrifying things have made him a creature to be feared.”

  Montgomery sat down on top of the table that he had been leaning on. His hands squeezed his thighs as he sighed. “Then death. We have to kill this thing.”

  “I am afraid so,” Dominic replied, his head bowed.

  “Michael and I found the shack the creature returns to,” began Lauren.

  “Michael?” echoed Montgomery.

  “Michael Nelson, the transient we brought in from the Leftwich place. He led me to where he had seen the creature. There is enough physical evidence there to link the murders. I don’t know why he goes back there, but that is where this started.”

  “What about the man?” queried the sheriff, walking across the open area of the station to where Mrs. Meadows sat. She had returned to the computer, the sound of pages printing in the distance amplified by the relative silence. “This thing wasn’t always the creature. Maybe knowing who he was can help us find him.”

  Mrs. Meadows stood and walked back to the printer, retrieving a couple of pages and then shuffling them so that they were flush with one another. Laying them on the counter, she adjusted the thick glasses on her face. “Weren’t that many bite victims. Though I guess not many reported,” she contributed.

  Montgomery grabbed the papers and began reading over the names. His lips moved as he did so.

  Lauren turned to Dominic.

  “Do you remember anything else about that logo?”

  “What logo?”

  Montgomery looked up from the sheets of paper.

  “The night that the man trapped and shot me, I managed to see him, albeit very briefly. He did not have any distinguishing features; he looked very much like everyone else I have seen in Locke. But he did have a logo on his coat that I thought seemed familiar. Alas, I cannot recall it. Agent Westlake believes this is the key to finding the killer’s whereabouts.”

  The sheriff turned without a word, disappearing into the darkened back room of the station. The front door chime echoed. Turning, Lauren watched as Matthews and the deputies on loan marched out from the cold into the slightly warmer waiting room. What had been an open area was no longer. Instead, everyone was packed in nearly shoulder to shoulder as the deputies congregated in the area the sheriff had just vacated.

  Matthews sidled toward Lauren.

  There was an uncomfortable moment as he lunged forward, embracing her as a child would a mother. As he pulled away, his eyes were glassy. “That was a hell of scare you gave us, Agent Westlake. Hell of a scare. We thought you slipped into that lake and…” he looked at Dominic who was staring at him, wide blue eyes taking him in. “I thought that would be a terrible way to go, slipping into those cold waters. Just glad you’re okay.”

  Lauren touched the deputy’s hand, smiling earnestly. “I appreciate your concern, Deputy Matthews. Before last night, I thought slipping into icy waters might be peaceful. I was quite wrong. There is a sense of foreboding knowing that you are slipping into a deep, frigid grave that does not comfort you in the slightest.”

  “What happened to you?” he asked, his eyes darting from Dominic to Lauren.

  “I have not yet told that tale, even to Lauren. I was waiting for the right moment,” Dominic began.

  Matthews had a boyish manner at all times, wide-eyed wonder and naivety painted across his face. He looked again from the agent to Dominic and then to the sheriff, as he re-entered the room holding a heavy, dark blue jacket.

  It was faded and had tears along the arms.

  “What story?” interjected the sheriff.

  Dominic cleared his throat. “How Lauren came to be here and not at the bottom of one of your many frozen, sprawling lakes. Your deputy was asking about the circumstances that led to Lauren’s presence here unscathed.”

  “You have an odd way about you, McManus.” The sheriff crossed his arms once more, the coat intertwined through the puffy portions of his own jacket. “Well get on with it, tell Matthews how you saved our agent here.”

  The other deputies tuned in as well, their vacant eyes taking in Dominic as if he were a practiced thespian reciting a great orator’s speech.

  McManus cleared his throat nervously.

  “I did not realize that it would be so theatric.”

  Montgomery sighed.

  “Let me sum it up for you. You are a werewolf. Big and strong and the like. You were tracking Lauren or the creature and came upon the lake. Being such a big ole badass, you jumped in. That about do it?”

  Dominic looked at him, his blue eyes darkening from the light tint they had been moment before. “As you say, sheriff. That sums it up well enough.”

  Montgomery could not seem to care less. Pulling the jacket from under his arms, he flattened out the emblem. “Is this what you saw?”

  Dominic took a critical look at it.

  His face was very grave.

  “Yes, it was.”

  The sheriff laid it over the counter, folding his arms. “That is an Erickson’s jacket. Get them after working there for six months or so. This one belonged to the other transient in town, Willits. He died about a year back. Froze to death, you see.”

  “
How very tragic,” replied Dominic.

  His face was impassive.

  The heat in the room rose as the sheriff stepped closer to Dominic. “Not really. He was an abusive drunk. Beat his wife until she left him. I have to say I don’t much like you being here, Mr. McManus, seeing as how you started all this.”

  Dominic understood the challenge in the sheriff’s voice. “I see. That is unfortunate, but I understand your position. I see how my presence here could be perceived as an insult to someone wishing to assign blame. Perhaps I should leave.”

  The sheriff squared himself, hands on hips.

  “Maybe you should.”

  Lauren looked at them in irritation. “He stays. Dominic has a particular expertise that we could use in this scenario.”

  The sheriff shrugged, scoffing.

  “What could that be? Shedding? Tearing up furniture?”

  Dominic laughed. “Are you essentially comparing me to a dog then? To some kind of pet? For a man with some status and responsibility, you have the reasoning of a child. I can smell the creature and track better than anyone in your party. I am curious though, sheriff, what is your expertise? What do you bring to the table?”

  The sheriff took a step forward so that he looked up at Dominic. “I’ve been doing this a very long time, McManus.”

  “As have I.”

  Mrs. Meadows stood up.

  “I got a list of men laid off from Erikson’s in the past twelve months. Seventeen names. Two of them are dead, Willits and one of the Grisham boys. Four of the others are women. So that leaves eleven.”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “How many deputies do you have?”

  Montgomery looked around at the collected men, noting that one had been sent out already to transport Maggie Wayne home. “We could go two suspects a man.”

  “Including you and Matthews?”

  He looked at Matthews thoughtfully. “I suppose that means someone will only get to check out one suspect. What about you and McManus?”

  “We are going to head back to the shack. See what Dominic can uncover.”

  The sheriff scoffed.

  The folds of his jacket deepened as he pulled his arms closer to his body. He nodded after a terse moment, waving the deputies forward. Tearing a long slip of paper for each of them, they departed out into the cold air of the fading afternoon. Handing one to Matthews, the younger man slumped his shoulders and stalked off like an angry teenager.

  Montgomery looked back at Dominic and Lauren, still visibly irritated by the man’s presence. “Are you going be okay with fur-boy? A dog can turn at any time,” he cautioned his voice serious.

  Dominic sighed.

  “Your disdain is well met, sheriff. However, I can assure that even in the form for which you have the most contempt, I am still quite cognizant of my actions. Were I to become all wolfy, as your Mrs. Meadows so succinctly put it, I would be in complete control of my faculties.”

  Lauren flashed an angry look at Montgomery.

  “I just do not understand men.”

  He pointed a finger at Dominic.

  “He started all this.”

  She stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of them. “And he is offering to help clean it up. What more do you want from him?”

  Montgomery opened his mouth, a clenched fist dissolving into a wave of his hands as he gave up. Following his deputies out into the cold air, he disappeared without another word.

  His intent did not need to be spoken, however. What Montgomery wanted emanated from his being. It was not simply blame that Montgomery wished. It was justice. He wanted Dominic to pay for what had happened––answer for another’s crime.

  Dominic and Lauren did not speak as they ventured outside. The deputies had departed and the squad car that Montgomery drove limped past, sputtering and spitting out clouds of dirty smoke. Lauren opened the driver’s side of the jeep with a haunting screech, ice having taken a hold.

  Dominic motioned to his sedan, but she shook her head. Getting into the passenger door, he slammed it with force.

  The frame rattled.

  Lauren looked at him with a lopsided grin.

  “Don’t know your own strength, huh?”

  He grimaced.

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  Her mirth dissipated at his sad tone.

  Starting the engine, she backed the jeep onto the icy road, spinning the tires momentarily as she followed the road Montgomery had taken. There was somberness about the town. A pall had descended amidst the murders. Gray skies seemed more desperate. The quiet buildings of Locke had become morose.

  “This has happened before. Those other case files, the ones involving mysterious deaths from an animal attack, they were perpetrated by my people,” he spoke after a time.

  The tree line was distant. Tall green trees interspersed with black and gray skeletons of those yet to be reborn, rising from the ash of winter like a phoenix in the spring once more.

  Lauren bit her lip. “What happened to them? Your people who came here?”

  He looked out as they passed a wide, peeling farmhouse that stood sentry against the cold and wind. “What I have done, what they have done, is condemnable. It is grounds for exile. Many who have come to this continent were cast out for such reasons. Some killed themselves. Others killed by hunters or those who knew what they were. What I am.”

  “That won’t happen here,” she spoke softly.

  Her heart raced.

  A flush passed over her entire body. Glossy eyes threatened tears as she thought of him in danger: hurt. The idea of him dying or being dragged away like some creature was almost too much to bear.

  “I have a feeling that some of the citizens of Locke would like someone to blame. This man that I have bitten, condemned to this cruel fate, will not be fit enough mentally to be held responsible in a way to satisfy them.”

  He laughed then, a sad exhalation of air.

  She looked at him.

  “Is there something funny in there that I missed?”

  “Werewolves. Animals. You accuse us of being sub-human, creatures that lack empathy. Yet the blood lust of your kind, when fevered, rivals anything we can muster. We mediate our beast so that we do not feed on humans. Humans show no such capacity. When they believe someone has violated one of their subjective mores, they attack. Maim. Kill.”

  Lauren did not say anything.

  There was not a response that could have quelled his fear that hid just beneath the surface. Nor did she disagree. Something dwelled in the heart of humanity, a rage left over from another time, a time when it was required.

  The day slowly gave way to night as they pressed on.

  Not another word was exchanged on the cold road.

  DEPUTY MATTHEWS READ THE NAME on the slip of paper several times as he climbed out of the squad car. The city of Locke had a surplus last year. A new squad car had been purchased and issued for use, but this was the first time that Matthews or Montgomery had driven the vehicle. Closing the door, he noticed that it did not croak or groan as the others did. The interior had smelled of leather and pine.

  Wind whipped against his thin frame and he pulled his collar closer around his neck. The wool cap on his head tucked just over his ears. He had never fired a round from his revolver; not once in the four years he had been with the Locke Police department. The previous deputy, a robust man who had moved on to another town farther south to take up a sheriff position, had never fired his either. There was not much call for violence in the small town.

  Spider-limbed trees with flaking trunks lined either side of the two-story home. A rusty-hinged screen door bounced open and closed in the jostling winds. Paint that had once been brown was now the musty color of runoff water. The grounds had not been tended to. Uneven tracks carved of mud and snow frozen and unfrozen once more had made for a bumpy ride.

  The porch was dilapidated.

  Dead, brittle limbs of plants hung from rope stretched too th
in. As he ascended the three broken planks that led onto the porch, he could hear the structure groan against the wind. He removed the slip of paper once more, having pushed it into his jacket pocket while exiting the squad car.

  Briar Winston: it was a strange name. Matthews thought it sounded like an alien, maybe an international spy.

  He knocked on the screen door, rattling it.

  “Mr. Winston. Police,” he called.

  Looking around the grounds, there was no car. There were, however, various parts from different models: a chassis there; a frame and motor with moss and snow entrenched in the cavity.

  Rural pop art as it was.

  Tall pine trees cascaded off into the distance, toward the lakes. Blowing out a cloud of air and shivering, he banged on the door again, this time much harder. “Mr. Winston. It’s Deputy Matthews. I want to ask you a few questions,” he ventured, raising his voice.

  A floorboard creaked.

  Matthews opened the screen door, one of the hinges disintegrating and falling to the ground. He caught the door and balanced it, spread open, against the wall beside it. The front door was open, the door knob hanging loosely from where it had been struck. He drew his revolver from his holster quickly, his hands shaking.

  Pushing the tip of his boot against the door, he opened it carefully, inch by inch. The day had nearly set; dark clouds filled the horizon, lending little light into the much darker home. He bumped the door with his shoulder as he swept in, pressing his back against the wall just inside.

  The door drifted shut with a low whine.

  Deeper in the house, another floorboard groaned.

  He could feel his heart beat faster.

  His hands sweat.

  With a shaky voice, he called out again.

  “Mr. Winston. Are you hurt?”

  Silence answered.

  “Is there someone in the house?”

  This time several boards groaned, moving across the ceiling just above him. He looked up, his eyes wide; dry as he did not blink. Staring, his gun was still extended out in front of him.